Tristan
October 19, 1786, Realm Timeline, New Castle near Blansko, Bohemia
Returning to the castle took longer. Everyone dragged their feet. Tristan felt... inadequate. His first command—not counting a few months he had shown the ropes to a twelve-year-old squire who had replaced him—looked more and more like a failure. He was winging it. The dream of showing his mettle to Eliza, a pipedream.
Cedrin had stopped a hundred feet before the castle, telling them about wolf pee scent, a pack marking their territory, when the first notification appeared.
Assessing performance: Poor. Compounding New Skill. 1%
The bar progressed fast, and when the elf finished describing the wolf pack hierarchy, it was completed.
New Skill: Chekhov's Gun
You can make a gun fire by itself if you're within ten feet of it. The bullet will find the most vulnerable target within a 100-foot radius and inflict critical damage. Exercise caution; this skill will not differentiate between friend and foe. An element of surprise, this skill will not work once you are already in combat.
"Guys, who's Tchekob?" Tristan asked.
"You mean Chekhov? A writer, Sir," Dorian said.
"Does he have a gun?"
"Figure of speech. He once said that if there's a gun on the stage during a play, it must be fired before the end of the third act."
"Ah... I see..."
"Why?"
"Got a skill. I can fire a gun without touching it, and it will hit the most vulnerable target."
"At least you can finally hit something," Aldric muttered under his breath.
You traitor!
"This is not normal," Max said. "You didn't know about Chekhov before, right, Sir?"
"Nope."
"Then how could your skill know? The System is influenced by the Realm's Mana, which is supposed to store information, but there is no Chekhov here yet. How did the System know?"
"It's the heuristic code," Isolde said.
"What's a hewistic code?" Tristan asked.
"The System guesses bigger things from smaller clues," Dorian said. "Chekhov's Gun must come from the Universal Translator. It includes idioms and expressions."
"You sure have a lot of those," Tristan said. "You rarely speak like normal people."
"Err..." Dorian paused, then changed the subject. "Why did it hit me? I should be stronger than Pops."
"You were poisoned," Cedric said.
"I bet on Pops any time," Aldric said. "You're the weakest of us."
"Thanks for the confidence!" Dorian said.
"But also the strongest. Yin and Yang."
"More like Bling and Bang. He likes bling, and he got banged," Isolde said, mimicking a gunshot.
"This is bullying. Sir, tell her to stop."
"Stop it," Tristan said anemically. "Did you call for supplies?" he continued, because a small truck was parked in the courtyard. The driver was inside, but they couldn't see them; the windshield reflected too much light.
"It's Sandra!" Isolde yelled, waving her hand. The driver opened the door and waved back. It was the chopper pilot.
A plan to redeem himself in his team's eyes instantly burgeoned in Tristan's mind, and Sandra was a big part of it.
"Hey, Sandra, nice to see you again," Tristan smiled.
"Hey! I brought some provisions and a generator," the woman pointed to the back of the truck. "The last pallet is all yours. And your orders, directly from Eliza," she extracted an envelope from her vest. "You took your time."
"Thank you." Tristan smiled again and opened the envelope.
The text was short: 'The Council made you a freelance captain, under my and Sam's supervision. You have a month to train the fellows you found in the castle. Do whatever you want, but go easy on corporal punishment.'
"She says I can do whatever I want, but go easy on corporal punishment. This is strange... Is it frequent to punish the corporal?"
"Not corporal. Corporal," Isolde said, making a body shape with her hands.
"It means you can't beat us too much, Sir," Emilios explained.
"Does killing someone count?" Dorian asked.
Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.
"Oh, my God!" Sandra stepped back, eyes widened.
"It was an accident, right?" Tristan groaned.
"Only last time," Dorian said.
"It was an accident every time, except for the mushrooms," Tristan said.
"Ah, it was a joke," Sandra relaxed. "Take out the provisions, and I'll be on my way."
"Why don't you stay for dinner?" Tristan asked, making his voice sweet. "We'll have a party."
"We have a Jacuzzi!" Isolde clapped.
"And good food and wine," Emilios said.
"I'm in!" Sandra gave a thumbs-up. "I have to make some deliveries to Brno, but I'll be back."
"I'll make... Hm... Cedric, can you find some ducks?" Emilios asked.
"Ducks need ponds, and there are none close. Crows?"
"Not on your life. A boar?"
"They're scared by the pack of wolves. The pack has an old male with them, if you—"
"Why don't we let the lady decide?" Tristan looked at Sandra. "Wolf or pizza?"
"Hahaha... Pizza's OK."
"You heard the lady. Emilios, tell them where to put the preserves and all."
Twenty minutes later, Sandra left, honking. Tristan waved so she could see him in the rear mirror.
"Sir, what about lunch?" Dorian asked. "It's a long time until dinner."
"You think you have the luxury of lunch on a battlefield?" Tristan snapped. "Only Pops has the right to eat, 'cause he's old."
The Chinese mumbled something, and Isolde translated after he repeated the words into her phone.
"He says he's fasting, but is willing to show us his kung-fu, Sir. That was in the schedule, remember?"
"Excellent idea. We shall see what he's able to do."
"I hope he's good," Aldric said. "I'm a big fan of Kung-Fu movies."
"Form a line, do what he does, slowly," Isolde said.
The old man bowed, his palms together, then began what looked to Tristan like a series of warming exercises fencers did. They were great for flexibility, but held for the best part of an hour. Cedric's long arms slapped those near him, and soon he was sent farther to the back.
"C'mon! When will he show us some real stuff?" Aldric complained.
Isolde translated. The old man frowned and said something.
"Pops asks, ' What do you mean by real stuff'?"
"You know. Bam bam? Like Bruce Lee, when he hits so fast that the other can't react?"
"Showing him a short movie," Isolde said.
Pops began speaking very fast. Isolde was having a hard time keeping up with him.
"Pops says movies are stupid and you don't want to get too close to your adversary because you don't have time to react. When you get close, it must be a feint, making your opponent hit in a specific way. Says: Try to slap me."
Pops leaned forward, patting his cheek. Aldric tried to slap the old man, restraining his force. The next second, his wrist bent awkwardly, then his elbow, and he was thrown into the air, landing on his face ten feet farther.
"Now we're talking!" the stonemage yelled.
"Pops says you should kick him."
The attempt resulted in Aldric being kicked in the groin while his foot was still in the air. The man collapsed on his knees, wailing.
"You should invest in endurance, man," Dorian said.
"Pops says he wants to spar with you, sir," Isolde said. "Using staves."
"Sure," Tristan said, taking off his spear's head and keeping only the staff. "Where do we find a staff for Pops?"
"Just a sec," Cedric said, running outside. He returned in no time, a straight hazel branch in his hand. "Will this do, Pops?"
"He says yes."
Tristan began with a deep thrust, stepping back fast, because the old man had no problems parrying it, countering with a swipe. He realized Pops had a deep knowledge of possible strike directions and was anticipating his moves from the slightest detail. A bit like Sam, but with a more fluid style. On top of that, Pops' hits were more varied, aiming at places where Sam had never gone, like the feet. A spear through your ankle was debilitating enough.
The conclusion came fast. Pops wasn't faster or stronger than him, but had, obviously, years of training behind. Tristan began stepping deeper, inviting Pops to hit him on the legs, so he could hit the old man in a vital part when he was exposed by the lounge. It worked, but Pops adapted, flourishing his staff, obliging Tristan to retreat. Theoretically, flourishes were not good in combat, because they left openings. Still, when those openings appeared, Pops was outside striking distance. When they closed, Tristan was uncomfortably close to being hit. In the end, the bout ended ten to three in Pops' favor. Everyone clapped.
"Man, that's cool," Aldric said.
"Did he invest in Body or something?" Tristan asked, finally noticing the old man didn't need the cane anymore.
"Pops says he doesn't know; he turned the System on auto the first day, and minded his business. Now, he says he wants to work on everyone's strengths. Aldric, why don't you make the cobblestones shake when you advance? That will destabilize him."
"Can I try?" the stonemage asked.
They were hooked. I have to make sure everyone has some reward, though, or they'll be demoralized.
The afternoon passed in no time, and despite being tired from the run and being hit by an old man, they insisted on going on until the last minute, when Emilios had to start preparing the food. Then Sandra came back, and they chatted while Tristan showed her the premises.
They ate in the lobby. He took care to behave like a gentleman, pulling out Sandra's chair for her, refilling her glass whenever it was empty, and listening to everything she said. He even remembered she had a kid and a cat and brought them into the conversation.
"It's Jacuzzi time," Tristan said after the dessert. "Aldric, heat the tub and tell me when it's done."
"Sure, boss." The man exited through a lateral door, then into a corridor, then to the mud room and the staircase of the tower. "It's done," Aldric yelled from upstairs half a minute later.
"Come back here!" Tristan shouted.
"What's up?" the stonemage asked once back. His shirt was half unbuttoned, a sign that he had been about to go into the jacuzzi.
"The tub is too small for such a big crowd," Tristan said. "I think we should take turns, and it would be only fitting for the captain and the guest to go in first. My lady?" He rose and offered his arm to Sandra.
"Wow! Really, Captain Obvious?" Isolde sneered.
"Captain Obvious, Sir!" Dorian said.
Tristan let the offenses go because Sandra was already walking out the door. When they reached the terrace, things evolved fast: they ended up in the tub, kissing. She caressed his neck, and he giggled because he was ticklish. She stopped.
"Let's take it easy."
"Do you want me to order some drinks up?"
"No, no, no!" she blurted immediately. "A girl needs her privacy... You like me?" she asked, a bit unsure.
"Very much," he said. Sandra looked his type. All the good shapes in the good places. A real woman.
"I thought you were with Eliza," she said, evidently testing him.
"I told you there's nothing between us."
"Yes, but men lie."
"Not I," he lied.
"Good. Men have trouble keeping their heads cool near her. She's that type, you know."
"Err... Are spinsters considered attractive on Earth?"
"Spinster? What are you talking about? She's beautiful!"
Women are not good at judging other women's looks... However, the wine in him made Tristan say things he did not intend. "Frankly, the first time I saw her, I thought she was hideous, but... I guess I didn't know what hideous meant until I met Cedric. Man, he's ugly..."
"Poor kid," Sandra sighed.
A few sobs coming from a vague direction sobered Tristan in an instant, reminding him that Cedric had been absent from the party. "Please tell me you're not on the roof, Cedric."
"I'm... not... on the roof... Sir," the boy sobbed.
"Oh..." Sandra facepalmed.
"Cedric, go downstairs and have some pizza. It's an order."
"Can't move, Sir, or I'll barf. I ate that old wolf earlier, and I don't feel very well. He was sick or something."
"You know, I rent a room in Brno, to be able to sleep between jobs," Sandra whispered in Tristan's ear.
"Can you drive really fast?" he whispered back.
She nodded, and they hurried to dress.